The Bedding Proposal Part 37

"Yes? If I call here again?"

Finally, she looked at him, her eyes hard as flint. "If you call once more, I will be forced to make sure you cannot ever do so again."

"Really?" He crossed his arms. "And how do you propose to keep me away?"

"I won't have to. I will sell the town house and leave London."

"What?" His jaw had grown slack with shock. "But this is your home."

"I will find another home. I will leave quietly and move very far away. There will be no chance of our ever crossing paths again."

He hadn't thought his heart could break any more than it had the day she'd ended their affair.

He had been wrong.

So he'd left, securing her promise that she would remain in her London house and giving his that he would not contact her again.

To his despair, he had kept his word, unwilling to take the risk of her disappearing forever. He needed to know he might catch a glimpse of her every now and again-even if only from a distance.

His family was in Town, the Season in full swing. Esme had been presented at court and had a spectacular coming-out ball. So far she seemed to be enjoying herself, eligible gentlemen eagerly lining up to dance attendance on her. Whether she truly wanted their attention-or any proposals of marriage-remained to be seen.

For her sake, he was doing his duty as older brother by attending the usual dinners and parties and other obligatory entertainments. But for the first time in his life, he couldn't drum up any of his old boisterous enthusiasm. Even the nights he spent making rounds with his friends were falling flat. How could they not when half his mind was always in another part of the city, wondering how Thalia was? Wondering what she was doing and with whom she might be doing it.

His boots beat out a hard rhythm against the pavement, his hands clenching and unclenching as he strode along. He was in a foul humor and judging by the wide berth he was receiving, his fellow pa.s.sersby knew it.

Christ, he wanted to hit something.

Badly.

Which must be why his footsteps had taken him to Gentleman Jackson's without his even being fully aware of his destination. He stared at the front entrance for a few minutes, then went inside.

He was well-known here at Jackson's-just as Lawrence was-and had no difficulty securing a sparring partner in spite of his unantic.i.p.ated visit.

Yet two rounds and twenty minutes later he was no closer to working off his anger than he had been when he'd arrived.

He smacked his sparring m.u.f.flers together, wondering if he would take more satisfaction fighting bare-knuckled. But Jackson frowned on his patrons' not taking appropriate safety measures and even more on those patrons' bruising and b.l.o.o.d.ying his staff-and themselves.

He was about to start another round when he heard a voice that froze every muscle in his body. Blood seemed to boil in his veins, hatred washing over him like a blast from a furnace.

Pivoting on his toes, he fixed his eyes on Lord Kemp.

Then he smiled.

It would appear fortune was favoring him today after all.

He strode away from his boxing partner, the other man giving him a worried look, as if he didn't like the expression on Leo's face.

But Leo had forgotten him already, his entire focus centered on Kemp.

Ever the bully, Kemp was alternately punching and taunting the man who'd been a.s.signed to spar with him. Jackson didn't employ lightweights and his men knew how to fight. But they kept a sporting att.i.tude and were instructed not to lose their tempers even when confronted by hotheaded clients. Kemp was taking advantage of that, getting in shots that were far from gentlemanly.

Then again, as Leo well knew, even though Kemp might hold a t.i.tle, he was no gentleman.

He watched for a minute as Jackson's man got in a fine uppercut to Kemp's jaw. But moments later he took a pair of jabs to his stomach and another to an area in his side that was already beginning to bruise.

The man shuddered and moved back, gloves up as he tried to shake off the pain.

"That the best you can do?" Kemp jeered. "My mother could provide better sport with one hand tied behind her back. Tell Jackson to get me someone else. Someone who'll give me a challenge rather than wasting my time."

"I wouldn't bother Jackson with this," Leo said, planting his gloved fists on his hips. "His men fight hard and fair, but none of them are going to give you what you want."

Kemp swung his head around, a pugnacious sneer on his face. He stared at Leo for a minute before recognition set in.

"Well, if it isn't Thalia's brash young cub. Byron, is it not?"

"That's right."

Kemp smirked. "How is my wife these days? Still amusing herself by robbing the cradle?"

"More like continuing to congratulate herself for getting away from you."

Kemp's expression darkened, Leo's verbal jab clearly striking home. "So? Have you come to learn from your betters, Byron?"

"If I were, I wouldn't be interested in fighting you."

"Fight me?" Kemp puffed out his large chest, then laughed. "You are amusing, if nothing else. But you are wasting my time. I need a real man to fight."

"Still hiding behind excuses so you don't have to face me? How's the throat by the way?"

Kemp's chin jutted forward, all humor wiped away. He glared malevolently. "You want a beating, whelp?" He jerked his head toward the sparring area. "Then come and get one."

"What do you say we make this more interesting?"

Kemp paused. "Interesting how?"

"A bare-knuckles match. No gloves. Just you and me. I did hear you say Jackson's men weren't giving you enough of a challenge."

A few of those men and several patrons had gathered round, listening with undisguised interest to him and Kemp. Leo's earlier sparring partner stepped forward, his heavy brows knotted with concern.

"My lord," he said in a low voice, "I would advise you not to embark on such a course. Jackson doesn't hold with bare-knuckle matches, not for his clients. There is far too great a risk of serious injury. If you wish to spar, use the m.u.f.flers."

"That's right, Byron," Kemp advised, his upper lip curled with derision. "Listen to the man. You're going to get hurt."

But as far as Leo was concerned, he wasn't the one in danger of getting hurt. Kemp was a cruel, arrogant brute and he was going to relish wiping the smug grin off his face.

"Advice noted," he said to Jackson's man. "But I believe I'll take my chances." Bringing one of the gloves up to his mouth, he loosened the strings with his teeth and pulled it off. He worked the second free with his hand.

"So, Kemp? Game for a real man's fight, as you call it? Or are you afraid it'll be too rough for you?"

For a fraction of an instant, Kemp hesitated; Leo could read the uncertainty in his eyes. Kemp was a bully, and bullies liked to be sure they had the upper hand.

But then Kemp's natural pride rea.s.serted itself; he was obviously confident that no one could best him, especially Leo.

Besides, Leo thought, they had an audience, one Kemp wouldn't be able to win over to his side so easily this time. Kemp had played the mature pragmatist during their last confrontation. This time if he retreated, he would look scared, pure and simple.

Kemp smirked again and held out his gloved hands so his servant could unfasten the ties.

"At least let me wrap your knuckles, my lord," Jackson's man insisted. "And yours as well, Lord Kemp."

"Very well," Leo agreed.

It wouldn't do him any good if he broke his hand on the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's hard head with his first hit.

A few minutes later, he squeezed his fingers open, then closed, testing the strength and flexibility of the cloth strips wound tightly around his hands. Across from him, Kemp did the same.

Voices buzzed as bets were placed by the men who'd gathered to watch the coming action. In all the time he'd come to Jackson's salon, Leo had never seen it so crowded.

He brushed all that aside, concentrating on his plan, antic.i.p.ation surging through his nerves and veins.

Then Kemp stood before him, heavier than him by at least two stone and far nastier, likely looking to any casual observer as the more fearsome opponent.

But Leo had the advantage; he had fury on his side.

He had right.

For each blow would be a blow of justice for Thalia.

Each drop of blood spilled would be in honor of the losses she'd endured, the pain she'd suffered and been unable to take recompense for herself.

He smiled and beckoned Kemp forward with a hand.

Kemp glanced around, posturing for the crowd; then he struck, his fist connecting in a hard blow against Leo's jaw.

Leo's head snapped back.

Distantly, he heard laughter.

But he barely felt the punch, ice-cold vengeance and molten hot rage burning too deeply inside him for the pain to take hold.

With a gimlet stare, he turned his head and spit out a mouthful of blood onto the floor. Then he looked at Kemp and smiled again, his teeth slick and red with menace.

The fight was on.

Before Kemp even knew what was coming, Leo struck, pounding his fists into his exposed gut in a hard, fast volley of blows. The breath wheezed out of Kemp's lungs, his face turning white, then red as he struggled for air.

But even as he managed to draw in the next breath, Leo struck again, hitting him one-two in the face, then again in his side in the same tender spot where Kemp had earlier been pummeling his sparring partner.

Kemp wavered, then held up his fists protectively, moving backward and away with several heavy, lumbering steps. He shook his head, trying to clear it so he could regain his equilibrium.

Leo came at him again; this time Kemp got in a pair of punches, striking him in the face and the stomach.

But rather than draw away, rather than take a moment to catch his own breath, Leo pursued. He hit, then hit again, striking whatever vulnerable parts of Kemp that he could reach. His muscles ached from the reverberation of the blows running up his arms, his hands turning slick with fresh blood.

Again, he barely felt the pain, pressing his advantage, every strike a victory for Thalia. He wanted Kemp to know how she'd felt. He wanted him to cower and beg, in fear for his life as she'd been for hers.

"Not like hitting a woman, is it, Kemp?" he said in a voice only the other man could hear. "I'm not so easy to beat and abuse, am I? How does it feel to be whipped like a beast? How do you like being the victim this time?"

Kemp's swollen eyes widened with understanding and fear. And hate.

But no remorse.

Leo saw that as clearly as he saw the bruises spreading over Kemp's flushed skin.

Leo really let loose then, raining Kemp with blows that the other man could not avoid or have any hope of returning. Kemp made one last feeble attempt to hit back; then he went down, sprawling at Leo's feet in a miserable, moaning heap.

Leo nearly followed, wanting to hit him again and again and again until there was nothing left that was worth striking anymore.

But Thalia's voice rang out in his head, reminding him of his promise. His vow that he would not give in to the basest parts of his nature.

He spit again, on Kemp this time, as a sign of his utter contempt.

Then he turned away.

Chapter 32.

"Lady Frost to see you, milady," Fletcher announced in low, dignified tones.

Thalia looked up from her sewing, then hurriedly secured her needle in her embroidery and got to her feet. "Jane! What a wonderful surprise. I didn't know you planned to drop by today."

Jane Frost walked into the room on a whisper of lavender silk, her glossy brown curls artfully arranged beneath her chip-straw bonnet decorated with silk flowers that had been dyed to match her gown.

Five children and fifteen years had thickened her a bit through the middle. Even so, she still managed to look as bright and lively as the girl Thalia had first known the year they'd made their come-out together.

Jane hugged Thalia, Jane's gardenia-scented perfume drifting sweetly in the air. She looked and smelled like springtime.

"I was thinking about you this morning, so I decided to pay you a call," Jane said, moving to take a seat.

"Tea, Fletcher, if it wouldn't be any trouble," Thalia told him.

"No trouble at all, milady."

She waited until Fletcher had departed before resuming her own seat. "So, what news have you come to share?"